All the Lies You Can Invent
by avanti90
Summary: One month before the treason trial, Gregor talks to Aral.


_For while the treason I detest, The traitor still I love.  
Hoole—Metastatio. Romulus and Hersilia. Act I. Sc. 5._

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Today was an unusual day. Today, the Emperor of Barrayar had dismissed all his underlings, canceled all his meetings, and thrown his army of secretaries into utter chaos by ordering his entire evening cleared. He was supposed to have a schedule timed down to the minute. Gregor had learned years ago – by watching his Regent, he thought bitterly - that a moment escaped from that schedule was the most precious of all gifts. So far he'd celebrated his freedom by staring at the blank screen of his comconsole for twenty minutes straight.

This was clearly not working.

Again, his hand hovered over the comconsole, hesitating between the official number, the one that would be routed through Aral's secretary, and his personal line. Finally, he chose the personal line. The quieter they kept this, the better. The Count and Countess were due to return to Vorbarr Sultana in two hours, and he wanted them at the Residence before news of the arrest could leak out. Both of them. Cordelia would see sense, would make Aral see sense before it was too late.

There was a buzz. Gregor automatically hit the comconsole before he realized he hadn't made the call yet; it was his desk comm. He switched it on and heard Armsman Kostov's voice.

"Count Vorkosigan is waiting to see you, sire." Gregor froze. _He was in Hassadar half an hour ago! _Aral had to have dropped everything and come here as fast as humanly possible. There could be only one reason for that. Gregor gritted his teeth in frustration, standing up and switching off the comconsole, hitting the button far harder than was necessary. Aral had to have found out about the arrest as soon as it happened. Just how many people in ImpSec were passing information directly to the Prime Minister?

Facing Illyan had exhausted him. This would be a thousand times worse, and he hadn't had time to prepare himself. But the longer Gregor delayed, the more painful it would be in the end for everyone concerned. He was the Emperor. He couldn't shy away from the difficult conversations. He couldn't hope - any more - for someone older than him to turn up and take care of all his problems. And he certainly couldn't run away and leave the Prime Minister waiting in the corridor, however much he might want to.

He'd been studiously avoiding Aral for the past few weeks, seeing him only at Ministerial meetings where at least ten other people were present and their conversation couldn't deviate from the official agenda. He could no longer have that luxury. Gregor took one minute to breathe and devise his new plan of attack. "Send him in."

Kostov opened the door, and Aral entered. Gregor caught a brief glimpse of two Vorkosigan armsmen in the hallway before the door shut behind him.

Gregor rose. "Prime Mi-"

He stopped. For once, his former Regent wasn't in those infuriating dress greens he had no business wearing. Today he wore his most formal brown and silver House uniform, with – oh, God. Gregor blinked. He'd never seen that many medals in one place since he was five years old and discovered the drawer full of shiny toys in the Regent's office. He had a vague memory of almost swallowing the Cetagandan campaign medal and ImpSec having a fit, and the drawer had stayed locked after that.

They were all military honors, except one. The Count wore a single gold Imperial Star, Barrayar's highest award. Gregor's first official act as Emperor, the day the Regency had ended, had been to place that ribbon around Aral's neck.

So. First blood had been drawn, and they hadn't even spoken yet.

Gregor corrected himself. "My lord Count. Good evening."

Aral wasted no time. "What have you done with Simon?"

Not even _Sire. _Gregor stiffened. "Please sit down, sir," he said. _Let us at least observe the basic courtesies, before battle is joined._

Aral made no move to sit, so neither did Gregor. "Simon," repeated Aral. He was clearly angry; very angry. Well, he wasn't the only one. "Captain Illyan is under arrest in ImpSec headquarters," Gregor told him. "The charge is conspiracy to commit high treason." He watched for the Count's reaction.

Aral's eyes narrowed. Gregor met his gaze without blinking, letting no sign of his fear show on his face. He was not a child anymore - he was right in this, and he would stand his ground even if all his natural instincts were screaming at him to run as fast as he could in the opposite direction - "What treason is this?"

As if he didn't already know. "Captain Illyan deliberately attempted to conceal from me the fact that Lord Vorpatril left Beta Colony over a week ago. And is on his way to Tau Verde."

"He needed time to confirm it, sire," Aral protested. "It was caution, not concealment. Not treason."

Did he seriously expect Gregor to fall for that? "He was confident enough to inform _you_ two days ago."

Aral went pale. _So I know more than you thought I did. _"Don't pretend this is the first time, sir. I have been reviewing Captain Illyan's investigation of this matter, and it has not been impartial. It never was." Gregor had found no evidence that Aral had personally ordered Simon to cover up this latest turn, and he was glad he hadn't. But Aral wouldn't have had to give that order; that was the problem.

The Count recovered quickly. "Simon has not been covering up anything at all for Miles. Or for me. Every word he has reported to you has been the truth and the whole truth. I assure you, sire, he is loyal."

"Certainly I have no doubt that the Captain is entirely loyal, sir," Gregor agreed.

The Count obviously saw his meaning perfectly. "Simon Illyan," he began, slowly and coldly, "has served you since you were four years old, and your grandfather before that. You are insulting the honor of a man who has given not just his entire life, but his mind, his very soul, to the Imperium. To you. Gregor, how could you do this?"

Gregor wanted nothing more than to ask that question to the man before him. The man who had been the closest thing he'd ever had to a father. They'd drifted apart in the two years since Gregor's majority, but he'd never imagined that _this_ could be possible. Aral Vorkosigan had been the first man to swear oath to Gregor as Emperor, and even in his most angry moments Gregor had never doubted that he would be the last man to break it. He'd spent the last few months struggling to hold on to that belief in the face of all evidence to the contrary. He could no longer deceive himself.

But he didn't ask. Not yet. There would be a time to ask that question. For now, he simply waited.

"I want to speak to Simon," said Aral finally, when the silence grew too long.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, sir."

"He is my sworn liegeman." The Count pointed out. "I have that right." Ah. The uniform. Even now, Gregor had to admire the touch. Aral had deliberately not entered Gregor's office as the Prime Minister; he was Count Vorkosigan claiming his Vor right over his liegeman.

_His_ right over the Chief of _Imperial _Security.

"No," said Gregor as calmly as he could._ Let's see what happens. _Aral looked shocked at being defied so openly, for the first time. Gregor tried to make his face as bland as possible. It hurt him to say these things, but they needed to be said before it was too late. "You can tell me why Ivan is going to Tau Verde. What is he taking with him, sir, that you couldn't send with the official courier?" _What orders?_

"Is that what - sire, I don't know. I don't know where Ivan is, I don't know what Miles is doing, why and where and how he got those mercenaries. I give you my word as Vorkosigan, _I don't know_."

"Where and how is a mystery, certainly," agreed Gregor. "But as to why – I can think of only one possible reason why."

Aral seemed stunned. Good, unsettle him, as much as possible. "That - you truly think - Gregor, can't you see that Vordrozda's whole idea is absurd? A seventeen-year old boy deciding to usurp the Imperium all by himself? With an armada less than one-twentieth the size of the Barrayaran Home Fleet? You may believe my son a traitor, but you can't believe him to be such an idiot. It should be obvious to anybody that -"

"- he's not doing it all by himself," finished Gregor. "And as for your reasoning, sir - the Imperial fleet, however large it may be, can stop an enemy only if it chooses to." _For the Conqueror of Komarr, it might choose not to. _He waited, wondering what the effect of this would be. It was as close as he could bring himself to open accusation; it was clear that the Count had not expected this confrontation at all.

The only expression he could read on Aral's face was one of utter disgust. "Is that the rubbish Vordrozda's feeding you this week? Fleet mutiny? Secret messages? You believe this nonsense from him?"

Gregor stiffened. Two years past his majority and his Regent still hadn't stopped talking to him as if he was a child. As if he could make no judgement of his own, as if he was only capable of swallowing other people's opinions, if not Aral's then somebody else's... "Shall we leave Count Vordrozda out of this?"

"Shall we leave Captain Illyan out of this?" retorted Aral. "Your problem isn't with Simon. Your problem is with me. Tell me, how long do I have before you sign the next warrant? Or have you already done so?"

Of course Gregor hadn't. He couldn't have even if he'd wanted to, and he didn't want to. _The day I do that, _he thought,_ my cabinet will resign, my military will revolt, ImpSec will turn against me, and I'll have to explain it all to Cordelia._

And that brought him back to the question he'd been asking himself every day these last two months.

Why was Cordelia not here? Why had she kept herself apart from this, right from the beginning? Even now, when the date of the trial was finally set, the charges laid before the counts, why had she not said a word? He knew the Vorkosigans – or thought he knew them - as well as anybody who wasn't a Vorkosigan. He knew how they worked together in perfect harmony, like a left and right hand. Could Aral and Miles have done this thing without Cordelia at least suspecting? And if Aral was telling the truth - if it really was all a catastrophic misunderstanding, she would have marched into this room to give him a good strong dose of Betan therapy a long time ago. She'd certainly never hesitated to do so in the past. Was it because she knew they were in the wrong, because she was torn between her love for her family and her oath to her Emperor? Somehow that wasn't at all like her, but none of this was like any of them.

He and Aral glared at each other in furious silence for a while. That was another problem, thought Gregor – they couldn't even have a proper argument, because they both got quiet when they got angry.

Now. Now was the time, when the Count was still shocked and off-balance, now was the time to make his move before the Count could get his act and his stubbornness back together. "Aral," said Gregor quietly, "you have to see where this is going to lead us. Believe me, I want a trial as little as you do. I know that you do care about Barrayar, and you have to realize, sir, if we don't come to some agreement now, it will be a disaster for all of Barrayar."

Aral opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he sat down slowly on the chair before the desk, and looked at Gregor for a long while before he spoke at last. "So _that's_ it." He watched Gregor with a calculating, measuring gaze. "Well, sire, tell me. What is it that you want?"

"Admit what you and Miles are doing. You don't even have to do it in public. I just need to know, Aral." _I need to know why._

"And then?" The Count seemed quite interested in what Gregor was going to say. It was the look he'd always worn when testing Gregor, questioning the child-Emperor to see how much he'd absorbed from his lessons.

"And then we hush it up, for Barrayar's sake. I'll persuade Vordrozda to drop the charges. Lack of evidence. You order Miles to leave his mercenaries and come back here, alone. I'll guarantee his safety, and yours, on my word as Vorbarra. You retire from politics. You and your family might find it more convenient to live off-planet. Say, Sergyar."

"If you mean exile, boy, say exile," snapped the Count. Gregor bit back his automatic urge to apologize. _Wrong answer._ "Don't try to play word games with me. And you've forgotten the reason we're having this conversation. What about Simon?"

"I'll guarantee Simon's life as well. He can retire peacefully. Naturally ImpSec will have to continue providing him with security. I have no wish to execute anybody, Aral."

"No," said Aral, softly. "I believe you don't."

Gregor said nothing more, but waited for an answer. The Count stood up and walked slowly to the vast window on one side of the room. He stood there for a long time, hands gripping the windowsill tightly, eyes looking down through the haze of the force-shield. Gregor knew what he was seeing. That window overlooked the Great Square, as did the window of the Prime Minister's office in the opposite building. Gregor had stopped looking out of that window a long time back. Why bother, when the scene haunted him every night, and almost certainly haunted the Count as well? He could tell Aral was troubled; he looked so very old and tired in that instant. For a moment, a very brief moment, Gregor thought Aral was seriously considering his offer. For a moment, he thought there might actually be hope for them all.

"No."

"For God's sake, sir, see reason!" Gregor burst out. "There's no point denying the facts anymore."

"Which is why I am not denying any facts, sire," replied Aral with absolute calm.

If only Cordelia had been here. She was the only person who could cut through all those layers of impenetrable Vorkosigan stubbornness. Gregor could only pound his head against them uselessly. "When the Counts convict Miles, I must remain impartial. I cannot pardon him, however much I may wish to." It took all his self-control to keep his voice steady as he said those words. _Miles. Why?_

"Oh, I know," replied the Count. "I know all about Imperial impartiality, sire, and how much it hurts. I shall do my best to spare you that necessity."

Did he really think he could win this battle? More than three-fourths of the Counts had some or the other reason to bear a grudge against Aral Vorkosigan. Even those who didn't could see which way the wind was blowing, and it was blowing due Vordrozda. "Aral," whispered Gregor softly, begging now. "Don't make me do this. Please."

The Count shook his head sadly. "I am sorry, Gregor. I cannot give you any easy way out, not this time."

Gregor couldn't stand it anymore. "_Why not?"_

The Count met his eyes. "Because Barrayar needs an Emperor who has the courage to face the truth. I cannot lie to you, Gregor, not even for this. Not even for Miles."

Lies, damned lies, spoken with such sincerity. "Then why won't you just tell me what Ivan is up to!"

Anger flashed back in the Count's gray eyes. "If you'd let Simon do his job, we might all have a chance of finding out. Until then, sire, I cannot tell you what I don't know. If you are so convinced that your advisors are conspiring to hide something from you, then I suggest – no, as your Prime Minister, I strongly recommend that you order an auditorial investigation into this matter. Immediately."

Did he seriously think Gregor was so stupid as to not have thought of that himself, right in the beginning? "Was there any particular auditor you had in mind, sir?"

"That is not for me to suggest, Sire."

"No," snapped Gregor, "And nor do you need to, since you appointed every one of them." Well, except one. Gregor's mind toyed briefly with the idea of sending Lord Auditor General Vorparadjis to Beta Colony, and shut down in automatic self-defence.

Aral's face darkened. "So you will insult not only my honor and Simon's, but that of all your sworn Voices as well. Where will this end, sire? Has Vordrozda blinded you so much that you can only see either flattery or treason?"

Gregor flinched. Those words hit him harder than anything he'd heard this day. Those words were from a quotation, one every Barrayaran schoolboy knew; the words Prince Xav Vorbarra had spoken to his brother before Yuri Vorbarra's war began.

Gregor didn't remember a time when he hadn't known the story of his great-uncle's life. Yuri had been going mad for years before he died, but men had still stood loyal to him. Until the day he accused his own family of treason, the day they turned against him because he left them with no other choice; the day his unfounded suspicions became self-fulfilling prophecies. He knew, in grisly detail that had once kept him awake every night for weeks, exactly how Mad Yuri had died. And who had taken the first cut.

And one thing Gregor knew better than anything else, because he had vowed never to forget it, was that Yuri had inherited that madness from his mother. Gregor's great-grandmother. Aral knew those fears, he had listened to those fears, he had soothed those fears when Gregor had been a child, and now he dared to play on those fears. It made the betrayal a hundred times worse.

"Stop," Gregor managed to utter through clenched teeth, "trying. To manipulate me."

Aral jerked as if Gregor had physically struck him. "I have never, ever, tried to manipulate you, in any way. Whatever people may say, you know I have not made you a puppet-"

"You failed."

Gregor knew he'd gone too far even before the words left his mouth. The Count's face had gone almost white.

_Oh, no. _He had witnessed a handful of the dreaded Vorkosigan rages in his life, and they weren't experiences anyone could forget. But he'd never, ever seen that expression directed at himself before.

Aral glared at Gregor with absolute fury in his eyes, his fists clenched at his side. "You are quite correct," he said. Gregor stood still, shocked. "But not in the way you think. I swore before all Barrayar that I would raise you to become the Emperor that your people deserve." The Count's voice went so soft it was barely audible. "That was the most important task ever entrusted to me. And it seems, indeed, I failed." He turned to the door. "Good evening. _Sire_ ."

Gregor stood staring at the empty doorway for a full twenty seconds after the Count had left. Then he went to the window where Aral had stood, and looked down alone into the place of his nightmares. The Great Square of Vorbarr Sultana. It was crowded at this time; the evening rush of people going home from work. His people. His eyes were drawn inexorably to the pillars in the center of the square – the pillars to which noble-born traitors were chained, condemned to starve and die in full public view.

Of course it wouldn't come to that; not death by starvation. Aral would not stand by and watch Miles die, and Barrayar would not stand by and watch Aral Vorkosigan die. And Miles and his mercenaries would not stand by if Gregor tried to stop it all and do nothing. No, either way, no matter what he did now, it would be death by civil war for all of them.

He, too, had failed.


End file.
